Curry Chandler is a writer, researcher, and independent scholar working in the field of communication and media studies. His writing on media theory and policy has been published in the popular press as well as academic journals. Curry approaches the study of communication from a distinctly critical perspective, and with a commitment to addressing inequality in power relations. The scope of his research activity includes media ecology, political economy, and the critique of ideology.

Curry is a graduate student in the Communication Department at the University of Pittsburgh, having previously earned degrees from Pepperdine University and the University of Central Florida.

Twenty years of Last Action Hero, reality TV hoaxer, whistleblower heroics and more

The film Last Action Hero
opened twenty years ago today. I saw the movie in theaters and loved it
as a child. Having been a fan of Terminator 2 (which came out a few
years earlier) Last Action Hero elaborated on the boyhood fantasy of
having your own personal Ah-nuld, just like John Connor and his robot
pal. Over the years I developed an all new appreciation for the film as
an original and endearing work of metafiction. To mark the anniversary
Calcum Marsh at Esquire posted this piece about why the movie is "better than you remember":

And
even better is the film's conception of movie morality, which it twists
into a biting satirical treatise: Rather than suggest, once the
fictional characters break free into the real world, that reality has
rules and consequences that the film world doesn't, Last Action Hero
does just the opposite, serving up hard truths about the uncaring
streets of modern-day New York. "In this world," observes a villain
named Benedict (Charles Dance), "bad guys can win" — a point he
summarily proves by shooting a local mechanic in cold blood, loudly
announcing the murder and looking disappointed when he hears no screams
or sirens. Last Action Hero suggests that while the movies may
seem like heedless spectacles, it's the moral chaos of our own world
that's really dire. That's quite a thesis for a comedy made for kids.

What
the host didn't know is that K.T. was actually 31-year-old Ken Tarr, a
budding mastermind of the reality TV hoax. Over the past five months,
working out of his modest Los Angeles apartment, Tarr had talked his way
onto eight different shows taped in five different cities — each time
cloaked in a different persona. He'd become a dissonant saboteur in the
machinery of sleaze that sprawls across our televisions.

We
all know the feeling of surrendering to the embedded biases of our
devices. We let our cell phones ping us every time there's an incoming
message and check our e-mail even when we'd best pay attention to what's
going on around us in the real world. We text while driving. Likewise,
without conscious restraint, government agencies can't help but let the
growing power of big data draw them into ever more invasive forms of
surveillance on a population whose members simply must include those who
intend harm on the rest. This is just how everything runs when it's
left on "default" settings.

The
spaceships of 2001 were designed by Frederick I. Ordway III, chief
science adviser; Harry Lange, illustrator and concept artist (who later
would design spaceship interiors for "Star Wars") and Tony Masters,
production designer on "Lawrence of Arabia," "Dune" and other films.
Real-life spacecraft contractors including IBM, Honeywell, RCA and
General Electric were consulted for their predictions of the technology
of 35 years in the future.